


Goosebumps

by justanothersong



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Batcave, Fallen Castiel, Fluff, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Implied Relationships, M/M, Music, Post Episode: s08e23 Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 16:37:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothersong/pseuds/justanothersong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He may have been masquerading as one for years, but Castiel never fully understood what it was to be human, vessel or no vessel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goosebumps

He may have been masquerading as one for years, but Castiel never fully understood what it was to be human, vessel or no vessel. He could operate the body that had once been Jimmy Novak the way a puppeteer could pull the strings of a marionette, or, better, the way a performer donned a full body costume, all felt and fur and skin that didn’t really register touch. The barest sensation was there, the feeling of movement, light friction and weight, but he didn’t feel it the way Sam and Dean could, with the blessings of a million live nerves jolting and shivering beneath his fingertips.

Of course that all changed after the fall, when he became a _real boy_.

 

After that, everything was new again. Castiel went through the same motions, a thousand actions and reflexes he had guided his vessel through many times before, but it was different this time. He wasn’t in a vessel, strapped into a meatsuit to play a role; it was his body now, his blood and bone and skin, each nerve and follicle and pore all his own, full of aches and sensations that were all brand new.

Touch was the first to captivate him. The strange texture changes between soft flannel and rough denim, his searching fingers earning strange glances and, in the long run, more than a few uncomfortable looks from whichever Winchester had attracted his attention. Fabrics had become a favorite, the smoothness of leather, the cool almost liquid feeling of silk. His first newly human experience with Velcro had kept Castiel amused for the better part of an hour. The boys took it in stride as best they could, trying to understand how different everything must have seemed for the newly de-winged angel, but it could still be trying at times. Sam had been wildly uncomfortable when Castiel had discovered the softness of the other man’s hair; Dean had taken it much better, sitting quietly still and even drifting into a calming snooze while Castiel flicked his fingers through his shorter dark-blonde locks.

Next came scent, soaps and flowers and oh, the coffee, so much better now that the full aroma could really hit him. He liked vanilla and cinnamon and the soft clean scent of freshly laundered clothes, even better if they were warm from the dryer. The scent of rain on hot summer pavement was invigorating and the distinctly male leathery scent of the Impala’s interior had a quality of home. Roses were too cloying and daisies made him sneeze, but the freshness of sliced cucumber and the fruity sweetness of watermelon were treats, even if he could only enjoy them for so long before Dean had to remind him to eat his lunch, not just sniff it.

Eating was just as captivating. He spent hours on single meals, savoring each bite, learning what he enjoyed and what he would avoid. Coffee had become a staple, the darker the better, with milk rather than cream and just a touch of sugar. Cherries and grapes and peaches were wonderful, but pears were bland and pineapple made his tongue itch. Strawberries were good, but only when sugared, and only Fuji apples would do. He still loved burgers, though whether it was a vestige of his vessel’s tastes or his own newfound affection, Castiel was never sure. Dean made him steaks and roasts and he sampled each one, finding a preference towards red meat and a dislike for whole fish – though shellfish were a treat, now and again. Celery was too bitter – _why do people even eat this?_ , he had asked – and plain lettuce too watery, but he liked carrots and fresh spinach and brightly colored bell peppers in the salads that Sam had him try. He even found himself developing a fondness for the pleasant burn of whiskey.

Colors were new and fresh, and Dean made it a point to sit through a sunset and a sunrise with Castiel, watching the angel as he watched the colors of the sky with newly human eyes, still unbearably blue but also wide with the wonder of creation he could never have truly known before. Sam brought him to a gallery to see a traveling exhibition of art of the old masters, and though many of the images had been familiar, Castiel had been surprised at all of the intricacies and minutiae of detail he had missed before. He found he rather liked the impressionists, Degas in particular, and Sam had bought him a small print of _Dancer Taking a Bow_.

 

Sound became something of an odyssey, particularly when Dean had realized the changes that Castiel was experiencing. At first it was simply the sounds of the world passing them by, the wind in the trees and the rain on the roof, a dog barking in the distance. Sam had brought him discs of ‘nature’, with howling wolves and waves lapping at the shore, an occasional roll of thunder making Castiel understand why children sometimes found it so frightening. The soft rumble of Dean snoring on the couch gave him a strange warmth in his chest he hadn’t expected, and the growl of the Impala’s engine sent a simple flash of joy through his blood. But the garbled noises of Sam clearing his throat every few seconds for a good ten minutes or the static of a radio losing its signal grated on his nerves like nothing else. 

When it came time for music, Sam had suggested some symphonies to begin with, but Dean had quickly hushed his younger brother, considering himself much the expert in this particular branch of sensory education. The songs the elder Winchester played were all ones that Castiel had heard before, on the radio when driving with the boys, but they sounded different now, richer and fraught with more feeling than he remembered. He began spending his nights in the passenger seat of Dean’s beloved car, driving aimlessly down dark country roads as the other man switched out cassette after cassette in the antiquated stereo for him to listen.

“You’ll love this one,” Dean often said as a new song began, and many times Castiel found that he did, though he wondered if it was the song itself or the way Dean sometimes softly sang the lyrics as though Castiel couldn’t hear him.

 

It was one of those such nights when it happened. Another cassette popped into the tape deck, another drive down a dark stretch of road leaving them pulled over to enjoy the night, the windows rolled down to allow a summer breeze to seep inside, along with the sound of crickets and the scent of dewy grass. 

Castiel had heard the song before, even remembered some of the words, but he dutifully closed his eyes like Dean had taught him, letting the sound sink in. When he felt it happen, his eyes flew open in alarm.

“Seems that the wrath of the Gods got a punch on the nose and it started to flow…” the radio speaker intoned, and Castiel stared down at his bare arms with fear beginning to drum heavily in his blood.

“Dean…” he said slowly, softly, as though interrupting the sound was a sacrilege. He had taken to wearing t-shirts and jeans, castoffs from the boys supplemented with thrift store finds, and he watched in horror as each follicle on his arms began to stand erect, the sensation sweeping up even to the back of his neck.

“Dean,” he said again. “There’s something… what’s wrong? What’s happening to me?”

 

Drawn out from his revelry in the sound of the song, Dean opened his eyes, limpid pools of jade that Castiel once would only thought of as green but now reminded him of coveted gemstones. “Cas?” he asked, brow furrowed. “Don’t you like it?”

Castiel held out his afflicted arm. “There’s something wrong with me,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t… I don’t understand, I was just listening, and I…” He trailed off as his companion’s eyes drifted from his arms to his face, a smile growing there.

“Cas, it’s okay,” Dean said, shaking his head.

“But…” Castiel began.

“It happens sometimes,” Dean explained, smile still playing on his features. “When the song is really good. Just close your eyes, go with it.”

Castiel nodded slowly, still not quite understanding, even as Dean reached to turn the volume on the stereo up a little louder. The strange sensation continued, almost like a chill but not quite, and ultimately not at all unpleasant. Castiel watched as Dean closed his eyes again and leaned back into his seat, and then did the same, letting the sound wash over him.

He didn’t even open his eyes when he felt a calloused hand reach out and twine their fingers together on the seat between them, a brand new rush of feeling beginning to overtake the angel from the touch.

**Author's Note:**

> The song referenced is "Going to California", by Led Zeppelin.
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://literatec.tumblr.com), if you wish.
> 
> Please do not add this, or any of my posted works, to Goodreads. Thank you.


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